My Son
by America's Got Fandom
Summary: Wanda takes a moment, as her son sleeps, to reflect on the absurdity of that sentence. Her one wish, if she could do such a thing, would be that Timmy was her son. Oneshot mother-son fluff. T because I'm WAY too paranoid.


**A/N: Dunno why, but I felt like writing a Wanda/Timmy mother/son oneshot. I mean, come on, their relationship is ADORABLE! So, this little oneshot (while I procrastinate from my other pieces) broke out from the really scary depths of my mind. ENJOY!**

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Wanda had two sons.

If anyone had heard her innermost, quietest, and most intimate thoughts, they would certainly berate her for acting so whimsical, so childish, and idealistic. After all, she had one son, Poof, that she loved with all her heart. However, no matter how much pure, motherly love and affection she harbored for Timmy, her first, it was not enough to change the facts, that she was not his mother.

The future was uncertain, she mused, as she pulled the covers up over her son's shoulders, plucked his pink hat off his head, and watched the steady, constant hum of his breathing. In quiet moments like this, her boy nearly resembled a toddler, a baby, even. Though he could harbor hormonal, immature tendencies like a teenager, he was always sweet in the cloak of night.

Her finger ran absentmindedly though her winter-rose locks. She tugged, wincing, at the various knots she had failed to brush out that morning. She should have been in bed by now, and at any moment, Cosmo would surely poof out of the bowl, begging for her to protect him from the dark. The thought nearly gifted her with a smile.

The day had been hard. A Fairy Council meeting to Timmy, secret negotiations with Jorgen to her. Well, that would be true, if only 'secret negotiations' meant helpless begging, pleading, and sobbing for an extension of her godson's time with her.

Jorgen had said he would consider it.

Wanda considered that a victory.

After all, Da Rules were not easily broken, if ever, without consequences. If Jorgen was even considering letting her son stay with him for a while longer than traditionally permitted, she could live a happy life.

Until he really _did _have to leave her.

No, she decided, jerking away from the bed and up into the air. He read nearly crashed into the ceiling as her fists crunched around her wand. She wouldn't let Timmy go. She wouldn't. They could run away. Yes. To TV. They had thought of it before, and it would surely work. Her, Timmy, Cosmo, and Poof would all run away from the world and into a safe, new reality.

If only she was his mother.

After all, no one can steal a child, swaddled in a blanket, from his mother's arms. If _she _was his mother, then Jorgen couldn't take him away. If _she _was his mother, she wouldn't have to share him. She competed – with his real parents, with Jorgen, with school, with everyone who threatened to hurt her son.

Oh, she could _call _him her son. She could scream it to the world if she pleased. However, that meant nothing. It didn't change the fact that he had a mother, a mother he loved.

It wasn't fair. With a swift crack of her wand against the wall, she knew it just wasn't fair!

_She _cared for him. _She _taught him the rights-and-wrongs of life. _She _stayed by him in every moment of his life. _She _taught him what it meant to be a good, caring, nice person. _She _loved him! How would she ever give him up to the cruel world that hit him so hard every day, the same world that had provided the reason for her entering his life in the first place? No, that was not what a good mother did. A good mother protected her son. She would not let him wanda, cold and alone, into the massive, dark, scary society he was to make a life in.

"Wanda?" A drowsy, faint voice piped up from below her, and she nearly thought she had imagined it. Looking down, she found Timmy, barely stepping in the conscious world.

She rubbed her forehead. "Yes, Timmy? Are you ok?" His real mother wasn't here now, was she?

Timmy stretched beneath his blankets, as if they were too hot, which leapt to her mind as the first conclusion. "Yeah, I'm fine, I just can't sleep."

Couldn't sleep? She raised a questioning, doubtful eyebrow at her son. Was he not _just _drifting in dream world, swimming in thoughts of infinite freedom and a lack of rules and regulations? He had been asleep, and she knew that. "Well," she replied, hesitating to take a step that could potentially drive the fragile conversation into a ditch. "What do you want me to do?"

The lethargic, lazy draw of his limbs seemed to drop like weights as he pushed his blankets off his legs. Underneath, and on his lap, lay a board game, _Knights of the Night. _"Want to play a game?"

Wanda smirked down at her son. "Just how long have you been hiding that game?"

A mischievous, off-handed smile overtook his face, and he patted down a spot on the bed for her. "What really is 'time', Wanda? Does it really matter how 'long' something has been going on?"

"I suppose not. But is it really right for you to be staying up so late?" There was a certain sense of duty, an obligation in her response, to provide a counter-argument for his frivolous ideas. That was what a good mother did.

"Aw, come on, Wanda, it's just one game!" He pushed himself up on the unstable, wobbly bed, jumped up a few times, and grabbed her hands to yank her down to his level. "Please? I don't wanna go to sleep!"

Now, how was she supposed to refuse that sweet plea for entertainment?

"Alright, fine," she relented, an amused smile playing at her lips. "But we should be quiet, or else Poof and Cosmo will wake up."

"Yes!" He gently tugged her from the air, and she sat beside him as he pulled out various plastic knights, about a hundred game cards, two dice, a foam board, and a multitude of playing materials Wanda did not know the purpose of. "Here, you're the pink knight." He handed her a mini, flamingo-pink knight figure, positioned in a battle-stance with a pointed sword.

Wanda placed her figure on the 'start' sticker and watched as Timmy expertly set pieces in their rightful spots. "Thanks for playing with me, Wanda."

Her magenta eyes swiveled down to her son, whose smile remained firmly in place, much like his unique, adorable buck-teeth. "Your welcome, Timmy," she replied in a quiet, fragile voice.

"Oh, I was thinking, well, can I ask you something?" His words jutted into the conversation so sharply, so abruptly, that Wanda had hardly enough time to prepare a reaction. His fingers tensed around the pieces, and she nearly saw a quiver vibrate through his frame, like he had been holding something in him for days. "Are you busy next week, the fifteenth? Like, May fifteenth, in the evening?"

"No." Even if she was, it hardly mattered. "What is it, sport?"

Timmy shrugged and tossed the dice with an off-hand roll. "It's not a huge deal, but there's a Mother's Day thing at school, I don't know what it is, but my mom's busy." The mention of his mother sparked hidden resentment in Wanda, and a hint of bitter anger in Timmy. "Anyway, you don't have to, but everyone else is gonna be there, so I was wondering, can you come?"

Was this it? Was this some sign, a message, a communication that she had no reason to worry about Timmy's love for her? Was she to accept this, realizing that she was more of a mom to him than his real mother was, and he would always remember her as a mother figure, if not a mom? She supposed it was.

So, why was her heart cracking in two?

Perhaps because this would make the future harder.

The more she loved him, the more he loved her, the harder letting go would become. She had already grown so attached to him. There was no way she could hold onto her sanity if she had to lose him.

"Wanda?" A flicker of hurt whipped through Timmy's voice. "Can you?"

"Yes," she replied. "I'd love to."

Timmy's face broke into a grin. "Thanks, Wanda. Ha!" He pointed to the dice. "I rolled a five, I get a visit to the blacksmith!"

Wanda's face softened as her son picked up a card, childish joy splashing across his face. If she, one day, had to leave him, she wanted him to be happy for as long as she could make him so. For as long as he was hers, as long as they were mother and son, she would make him happy.

Forever.


End file.
